Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) (19 page)

Bryce shakes his head, his eyes drifting over the chrome pipes and the oiled engine parts around the garage, looking like he’s right at home; “They let it be, and after that, he took me here. Fed me, helped me out, and so I worked for him.”
 

“Is that a
tank
out back?”

He laughs; “Yeah, Arkados had a thing for World War Two junk. Fixing that thing up was our little side-project until the police got tired of us tearing up the fields outside of town with it. Never did get the gun working, but, eh,” He laughs and shrugs, his whole body loosening up and warming at the memory; “Who needs it. Man that thing could
really
move though.”

He turns to me; “He was a good man, Arkados; probably the best I’ve ever known outside of William Archer. We were only in Turkey for two months, until we could smuggle ourselves into Egypt, but it felt like I was here for a lifetime. He knew what I was doing, knew I was running from something, and knew I was addicted at that point.” Bryce shakes his head sadly and smiles; “He didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t lecture either. He just told me to keep going; ‘it gets better’, he said.”

*****

Later, we say our goodbyes to Fairuza; the grandmother Bryce never had. The woman that lost so much, but had even more, from the sounds of it.

“No trouble for him, OK?” She says as she leans in and hugs me tightly to her small frame before she kisses me on the cheek; “He’s a good boy.”

“He’s the best.”

She smiles at me before she turns and hugs Bryce one last time; “Come again, yes? And be good.”

“Goodbye,
büyükanne
.”

“Goodbye, Bry-see.”

"I don't like this."

The plaza on the outskirts of the Başakşehir district back in Istanbul where we’ve arranged to meet Sasha
should
be quiet, but not this quiet. Bryce nods slowly in reply to my words, his eyes darting around at the windows and ledges of the buildings around us. There’s
no one
here; no washerwoman hanging laundry from apartment balconies, and no kids in the background. You can barely hear the sound of traffic down the road, but besides that, the place is like a ghost town.

“Where is she?” I step closer to him, sliding my hand into his and hooking my fingers through his.

He squeezes back, shooting me a quick grin; “No idea.”

“Well if she’s going to ditch out on us, we could always go back to the inn and…” I blush as I look up into his eyes, tracing my finger over his jawline.

He grins widely at me; “Sorry, darlin,” He says with mock distress in his voice; “I’m just
real
bad at subtly today I guess. You wanted to go back to the inn and do
what
now?” He’s teasing me, trying to get me to blush.

Two can play that game.

I lean in close, my lips just brushing against his earlobe, my breath hot on his skin; “I said,” I whisper thickly; “I think you should take me back to the hotel room and fuck the shit out of me with that big cock of yours.”

Ok, even
I
blush at that level of directness, but I feel the thrill of it throb deep within me as I hear him
growl
at my words, his fingers tightening their grip on mine. He pulls me tight against him, his hand sliding down to grab my ass; “Careful there, darlin,” He whispers into my ear, his hand sliding deep down the curve of my ass between my thighs and making me gasp; “Keep talking like that we won’t even
make it
back to the inn.”

I’m moaning into his kiss when there’s a sudden sound somewhere close. We pull apart quickly, looking around.

“Sasha?” The plaza is still silent, almost even more-so now. I look up at Bryce, his eyes sharp and focused as the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He reaches back into the waist of his pants for the gun Sasha gave us before, pulling it out and quickly checking the chamber.

“Get behind me.”

I frown; “What is it?”

“Nothing- I mean,” He looks around, his eyes darting; “Just, stay behi-“

The wall right next to us erupts in plaster and rock as the shots ring out around us. I scream as Bryce shoves me down behind one of the potted planters in the square, before ducking behind the one next to it as bullets pepper the ground around us. I scream again, covering my head with my hands as I duck down, feeling the adrenaline roaring through my veins. Pottery explodes next to my face, sending me reeling to the ground.

There’s a ringing in my ears as I wince and look up to see Bryce screaming something at me from his spot behind the other planter. His face is red and his eyes are wild as he waves his arms as he yells at me, as if shoving me away.

I don’t understand; what’s happening?

The ringing starts to fade into the sound of thundering gunshots, cracking glass, and shattering plaster walls; “
Run!
”

This time I do understand it, and my eyes go wide at him; “
What?!
”

“Run!” He’s screaming, his face tight as he glances a look over the planter and raises the gun in his hand to fire off a few shots backs; “Get out of here!”

“Are you
crazy?!
” I scream; “I’m not leaving you here!”

“Just
g
-“ A huge man in black comes crashing over the top of Bryce’s planter, tackling him to the ground. He’s got a bandage over his nose and clear signs of bruising around his eyes, and it takes me half a second to realize it’s fucking
Anderson
.

“Peyton!” Bryce is struggling with the bigger man, trading punches with him as they grapple on the ground; “
Run!
”

I can feel the fear then, the same gripping, arresting fear I felt once before; that night with Bill, in my mother’s trailer. And just like then, I’m paralyzed by it, frozen to the spot and just
staring
at Bryce as he screams at me.

“
Go!
”

“I’m not going to just le-“

“Get the
fuck
out of here! Get out so one of us can get Logan!”

I scream as two other men come charging around the size of the plaza and join the fray, holding Bryce down to the ground as he roars and struggles against them. And for a second, it looks like he’s winning. He bursts free of them, and in that second, he turns to me as he throws the gun at me. It’s clattering to my feet, and as I look up, it’s almost as if in slow motion as I meet his eyes; “
Bryce
-“

“Come back for me,” He says, and then I’m screaming as the men drag him back to ground.

And then I’m running. I’m screaming, and fighting back the tears, and I’m running.

One of us has to get Logan…Come back for me.

I don’t see the car until it practically hits me. I lunge out of the way as it comes screeching to a stop right in front of me, and it’s then that I look up with wild eyes and see the jet-black hair, and the blood-red lips of the woman behind the wheel.

Sasha
.

She flings the drivers side door open and steps out, looking more afraid than I’ve yet to see in her always-cool demeanor; “Get in the car.”

The gun in my hand is cocked and held right out towards her in a flash. Red rage starts to cloud my vision as one singular thought thunders in my head.
 

She sold us out
.

“You!” I’m bellowing at her; “You led us right into-“

But Sasha only rolls her eyes; “Get in the
fucking
car, Peyton.” Her eyes dart over my shoulder towards the plaza I’ve just come running out of; “And
please
, if I lead you into a trap, you won’t know until you’re dead.” She narrows her dark eyes at me; “You want to get him back?”

I tense my jaw, but slowly, I’m lowering the gun.

“Get in the
damn
car, Miss Rivers. I’m about to save your life, and then I’m going to help you save your brother and your boyfriend.”

This place is old.

The church, which is really more of a fortress than anything else, is easily a thousand years old; probably from the Crusades or something. And I’m sitting in the oldest part of it, down in the dungeons chained to a chair like some scene out of Braveheart. There’s a dim light that comes in through the window of the heavy wooden door, showing old wood beams in the ceiling, old crumbling plaster on the walls.
 

Like I said, ancient. Old architecture, old walls…

Old foes.

“Long time no see, Connors.” The overhead lights snaps on, making me wince and squint in the sudden brightness, however dim. Benson stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame and nodding slowly at me, as if appraising me sitting there shackled to the chair in the middle of the room; gloating at me.

“Long time,” I say, my voice leaden.

“Jesus, Connors, I mean you don’t call, you don’t write?” He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head as he steps into the room. The door stays open, but it’s an empty hope; not like I’m getting far with handcuffs securing my arms and legs to the metal-frame chair. Benson moves in front of me to lean against a table full of tools; tools that I know are there to scare me into wondering what they’re there for.
 

“You know, a guy could get to thinking you just don’t care, buddy.”

“What do you want, Benson.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes; “Jesus Christ, what, we can’t just catch up? I gotta Facebook you or some shit to make conversation? C’mon, Connors, you know that’s just not me. I’m not up on the tech stuff like you kids.”

I’m silent, my jaw tight as I just level my gaze at the man in front of me who I used to know. He’s older now of course, but he looks older than five years should have taken; goatee silvered, his stomach a bit rounder than it used to be.